We have been touched and greatly moved this week as we received a very generous donation from one of our students. The donation will be put towards our fundraising campaign for The Unity Centre Lewes. The aim of the centre is to bring Yoga, Art & Therapies to all with a particularly warm welcome to those with physical and learning differences.
We wish to help those who are isolated, vulnerable and marginalised, who would otherwise find it difficult to access these services. The donation that we have gratefully received is a legacy to the students late brother.
Alongside her generous support to the centre she has written a poem that she is happy to share with us all. The poem feels particularly poignant with it recently being mental health awareness week. We share this Poem with love and support to all.

My Brother (1960 – 2017)
A little boy, cheeky full of fun
Clever, creative, a thinker
Seeks a special friend, shuns the groups
A teacher spots potential, pressure mounts
Achieve little boy achieve
Adolescence brings gangly limbs, challenges
Achieve little boy achieve
Academic accolades are all that count
A voice inside asks who am I though who am I
The results roll in, the die is cast
Off young man off to Uni you go
Be someone clever be someone wise
Be sure to succeed that is your prize
But who am I he asks who am I
Lonely, adrift far from home the voice insists
Achieve young man achieve
A special friend starts to guide
Explore young man explore
The group with bells attract and entice
A calming mantra Hari Rama Hari Krishna
Come young man follow our god follow us
Do our bidding and all will be well
But still he asks who am I who am I
The voices start to take control
Loud, insistent, intent on their goal
They chivvy and chastise they harry and despise
The demons ask who are you who are you
A light, just a chink , a homecoming, a welcome
Hello my son it’s not too late for you no no
Back to education my lad it’s not too late for you
Achieve grown man achieve
But who am I he cries who am I
Fleeing once more from those he loves
The voices mount, you are no good grown man
It is too late, too late for you
NO NO NO he cries and cries
At last a diagnosis, medication, support
At last a place to settle and call his own
At last a place to visit each day,
At last a purpose a raison d’etre
People who offer art, music turning dark into light
People who see who he is, who he is
People who say that’s ok, that’s ok
But slowly, slowly austerity bites
Support is withdrawn, it’s no longer ok
The possessions mount cosseting, comforting
Piles upon piles of things used and unused
Offer the hope maybe good times will come
Those golf-clubs, that telescope, this banjo those books
Piling up and up with no room to breathe
The day centre closes nowhere to go
Lonely, unobserved a life ebbs and slips away
Who am I he cries, who am I
So Ham comes the reply So Ham
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